


Psychic

by Shining_Prince



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Artistic Liberties, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Manipulation, Everyone Has Issues, F/M, Friendship, Huge plot, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by Edgar Allan Poe, M/M, Mentions of Myth & Folklore, Mind Control, Mind Games, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mythology References, Original Character Death(s), Plot Twists, Psychic Abilities, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Undecided Relationship(s), Urban Legends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-11 00:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12923304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shining_Prince/pseuds/Shining_Prince
Summary: Sherlock Holmes just wanted to be left alone.John Watson just wanted to get away.Castiel Novak just wanted to step out of his siblings' shadows.Dean Winchester just wanted to keep his brother safe.Sam Winchester just wanted to have a normal life.And The Doctor just wanted to keep on running.None of them would get what they desired most.





	1. Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted

**Author's Note:**

> SuperWhoLock AU with a huge plot that has nothing and everything to do with the original stories. 
> 
> Fair Warnings:  
> There will be all kinds of pairings in this story, if this bothers you, I would recommend reading another story. The relationships will have a slow build-up and nothing too explicit will be written. Instead, these scenes will be alluded to/time skipped/written somewhere else. 
> 
> Strong language will be used in this story, just like there will be fight scenes in this story. The characters will use weapons and there will be blood. Maybe some torture, but, if I decide to add that, it will only be alluded to. 
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> Because I would just forget to put the disclaimers in every chapter, I will say it here: I do not own the characters, they all belong to the incredibly gifted people who made them real (to us), the plot, however, is mine.

The Doctor wore an excited grin as he sped through the countryside in his dark blue car. He had broken the speed limit ages ago, but he didn't slow down.

Instead, he enjoyed the feeling of adrenaline rushing through his veins, edging him on to go faster. He complied with a mad twinkle in his eyes, switching gears and flooring the gas.

It had been way too long since he had last done something like this. Just let go of everything. The thought he wouldn't be doing this anytime soon again, made him push the car even faster.

The scenery flashed by in a haze. Everything different from their usual shapes, everything altered by the speed of the car.

The Doctor had to admit he liked this car. He had originally chosen it because the colour reminded him of his TARDIS, but the car turned out to be better than he expected. It couldn't compare to his TARDIS, though. Nothing could compare to his sexy.

On the passenger seat lay a newspaper, a few days old already. The front page was a collage of several wheat fields. All of the fields had the word 'Doctor' written on them, the shaky and rough letters having been made by another car.

Really, these days, cars could be used for anything, the Doctor mused to himself. He laughed softly, a fond look appearing in his eyes as he glanced at the paper. He knew there was a reason he liked Amelia Pond. And Rory Pond wasn't too bad, either.

The fields were a reminder of the promise he had made Amelia a year ago before they left him. Both Amelia and Rory had traveled with him for a short while, two months to be exact.

The Doctor had shown them the world and all the beautiful and special places he could think of. At the end of their journey, they had managed to wrangle a promise out of him, to attend school with them for one year.

He didn't know why he kept torturing himself like this. Letting himself experience what he could never have. Oh well, there was nothing to it now. The Doctor had decided to go and he wouldn't change his mind. Not after the two days he wasted, trying to decide if he wanted to go or not.

He was too late to apply, but that didn't matter. The Doctor figured he could crash with Amelia or Rory. Applying meant tying himself down. Something he would never allow himself to do. He needed to move. He couldn't stand still. Or they would catch up.

He slowed down his car when he could make out the boarding school in the distance. It was a huge, modern complex, which existed out of several buildings. It was one of the most prestigious schools in the world. They only accepted you if you passed their entrance tests or if you paid an astronomical entrance fee.

The closer he came to the school, the more expensive cars he passed. He even counted a few limousines. He wasn't surprised, it was so terribly difficult to find someone with a good head on their shoulders these days.

He parked his car in front of the gates. The students still had to walk some distance, but no cars were allowed past this point.

He looked into the rear mirror one last time, multicoloured broken eyes looked back before he forced his usual grin on his face. It wouldn't do to worry Amelia.

He jumped out of his car, feeling the endless energy humming under his skin, begging to be let out. It always begged. Or raged. Or cried. But the energy was too dangerous, too destructive, to be let out.

He grabbed his suitcase, only one and only partly filled. It was slightly worrying, how little of his possessions he was truly attached to.

He easily passed the gate, using his slightly psychic paper. It had taken him ages to make, but it was so worth the time. It had never failed him yet.

He was just about to start down the path, a beautiful thing made of clear stone, to the school, when someone blocked his way.

He had to look up a little to meet icy blue orbs. He raised his eyebrow, trying to shake off the feeling of being dissected. The startling blue eyes never blinking as they watched him.

When the other person didn't say anything, the Doctor stepped to the side, intending to step around the person. He was uncomfortable, something he never was. Normally, he loved it. Attention. He liked it when people watched him, tried to figure him out. So why was he so unnerved by this person?

Genius.

The thought suddenly appeared and it wouldn't go away. This person was brilliant enough to be able to see the real person hiding behind the façade of the Doctor.

Of course, it would take time. A lot of time. The question was if he wanted to be found out.

He didn't even need to think about it.

"A proper genius," he muttered, studying the other. He didn't miss the slight blush on the other's cheeks.

"I am," the other composed himself quickly. "But what are you?"

The Doctor opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off. That was a first.

"You used a blank paper to get past the guard, yet the guard obviously saw something, because he let you pass," the other continued. "You didn't use the entrance pass they send all of us who were accepted, which means you either lost it or failed to get in.

"Now, you didn't lose it. You look like someone who easily loses his things, but if you had lost it, you would've just called the school or told the guard. You didn't, which means you weren't accepted. Or rather you didn't apply.

"You're clever. I would go as far as to call you brilliant, even. The entrance tests would've been easy for you. You're rich, too. Your car is expensive, it's also a newer model. Your clothes are made of the finest materials, even though they're old-fashioned. So you could've used your money to get into the school too.

"But you didn't. I can conclude from this, that you don't want to study here. The question remains then, what you're doing here."

The other guy paused and seemed to brace himself. The electric blue eyes becoming a little colder. The Doctor just grinned at him, his eyes sparkling with mirth and excitement.

"What's your name?" The Doctor asked, enjoying and hating the shock in the other's eyes.

He liked shocking people. It was his guilty pleasure. But he had done nothing special, but ask for the other's name.

He knew the other guy expected anger and disdain. He often got such a reaction when he showed his intelligence. He could handle it, he had people by his side who would always stand up for him, but the guy in front of him was alone.

And the Doctor knew it was partly his own choice to be alone, but he guessed it was a defense mechanism for the other.

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Sherlock. Sherlock, Sherly, Locky, Sheeerloock, " the Doctor tried the name out, tasting it on his tongue, then he nodded decisively. "I like it. Special, just like you."

That small blush was back and the Doctor grinned a little bit harder. It was cute.

"I'm the Doctor," the Doctor continued with a proud grin. He was proud of the oath he swore.

"Doctor?" Sherlock asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Is that a problem, Sherlock?" The Doctor asked, also raising an eyebrow.

"No," Sherlock shook his head.

The Doctor smiled happily. His name had never been accepted this easily before. He felt a warm feeling blooming in his chest.

"I'm going to run," the Doctor told Sherlock before leaning forward so he was standing on the balls of his feet and softening his voice. "Don't be a stranger, Sherlock."

Before Sherlock could reply, the Doctor turned around after giving Sherlock a wink. Then, he was running.

Dodging people left and right, shouting apologies with random names attached to them when he accidently startled the other students. Who knew, maybe he got a name right.

He just managed to twirl around two boys, startling them badly when he suddenly jumped in front of them. The tall guy tensed, while the shorter one, who was around the same height as the Doctor, reached for something inside his jacket.

Weapon. His mind supplied helpfully. He had to forcefully relax his body, he disliked weapons. Of any kind.

"Didn't mean to startle you," he offered them a sheepish grin. Sheep-ish. Sheep. He frowned. He didn't like sheep. "I was just running."

"From what?" The tall guy asked, looking behind him with a worried expression.

The Doctor forced himself to not think. Not here. Not now. Not ever. It was a simple question, a simple question from a normal guy. A guy who knew how to fight and whose friend had a weapon. But still, normal.

"Do I need a reason to run?" He asked them with a bright grin. They were fooled, of course they were. He was a liar. Good enough to hide the truth even from himself.

"No, not at all," the taller guy seemed so amazed, so relieved at this revelation.

The Doctor offered him another grin. He got a sincere smile in return. The other guy just eyed him warily, but he had relaxed somewhat.

"That's good, then," the Doctor nodded. "I would hate to stop running."

The Doctor twirled around again and gave the two friends a last grin. Then he was running again, his suitcase rattling behind him.

Now that he thought about it, he hadn't packed anything fragile, did he? He couldn't remember. Oh well, he would find out later.

The school was beautiful, he supposed. Too modern for his taste. But, then again, Sherlock had called him old-fashioned. Or his clothes. But he liked his clothes. That made him also old-fashioned, right? Was that a good thing?

"Doctor!" A familiar voice shouted from somewhere in front of him.

He looked up and gave Amelia a bright grin, his eyes taking in how much she had changed since she had left him.

"Amelia Pond," the Doctor shouted as he ran towards them with a spring in his step.

Amelia hugged him tightly and he hugged her back, forcing his body to stay relaxed.

"You got the message, then," another familiar voice interrupted their hug.

The Doctor could hear just the tiniest bit of jealousy and envy. He shook his head mentally, Rory didn't know just how much he was worth.

"Rory Pond," the Doctor let go of Amy and punched Rory's shoulder playfully, something he had seen many teenagers do in America. "You've grown!"

The Doctor heard Amelia snort as she tried to stop herself from laughing.

"You look good, too, Doctor," Rory replied with an exasperated grimace. "And it's Williams, Doctor."

The Doctor waved Rory's complains away as he looked down. Studying the outfit he had picked up on his way to the school. He only had it for a short while, but he adored it.

The outfit consisted out of a purple-brown cashmere frock coat, that reached his knees, a grey waistcoat and a light grey shirt. His black trousers, which barely reached his black, ankle-high boots. He also had his pocketwatch with him, hanging from the pockets of the waistcoat.

"I know that," the Doctor shot Rory a blinding grin. "Now, what've I missed?"

Amelia immediately started her story, talking about nights out with friends, her paintings and her dream to become an international model some day. Rory sometimes added or corrected some things, but mostly kept silent.

And the Doctor listened, he really did. But just like he couldn't sit still for more than a few minutes, his mind was always moving.

Rory was still the same self-conscious guy with the low self-esteem. The travels with the Doctor had changed him, though.

He had seen how big the world was and had seen how small his problems really were. It had made him see everything in a different light. The Doctor liked the change.

Amelia was still the fiery, Scottish girl she had ever been. Still dreaming about a modeling career and still painting on white canvas with the most beautiful colours.

He had missed them, he supposed. A little. But at the same time he was relieved they were far away from him and the death and destruction he dragged around with him.

He shouldn't even be here. It was too dangerous for him and the people around him. But he had promised. And so many promises had already been turned into lies by him. He didn't want that. Not again.

Amelia was starting to run out of things to say. He noticed in the way she was looking around. Trying to find something or someone to point out.

"It seems you have been catching up with your lifes," and how much did that hurt him. "Even got into this amazing school."

"I took the entrance tests for the art course," Amelia told him and she had never looked happier. "I'm an art student from this school now, it's basically a free pass into the modeling world.

The Doctor shot her an excited grin and clapped my hands. He was so proud of her. And hurt by her. But that didn't matter, not now. She didn't even realise she hurt him. Not now!

The Doctor snapped out of his thoughts and looked at Rory.

"I took the entrance tests for history and passed," he grinned at me and the Doctor nodded happily.

"Still fascinated by the Romans?" The Doctor asked.

"Don't worry, Doctor," he chuckled with a shake of his head. "I'm still Rory the Roman."

The Doctor laughed with them, trying to feel more than a random intruder in their lives. He knew they cared for him and he cared for them, but they didn't realise that more had changed than just his clothes.

Oh well, it didn't matter. His own happiness and life had always been second to those he cared about.

He thought back to Sherlock Holmes. A proper genius. The two friends. The fighters. He felt the energy in his body sing and as the implications of that hit him, one thought wouldn't leave his mind.

 _Geronimo_.

 


	2. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there fearing

Dean watched with a raised eyebrow as the crazy guy continued running. The dark blue suitcase was dragged along, swinging left and right whenever the strange guy added a quirky twirl or a random jump.

Even such prestigious schools had their crazies, apparently.

He turned towards Sammy, an incredulous look in his eyes and some rude words on his tongue.

He froze, however, when he saw Sammy's face. The amazed look and the huge smile.

"Did you see that, Dean?" Sam asked with a voice full of silent wonder.

"That weird kid?" Dean tried, he really tried not to destroy the wonder on his little brother's face. But he just couldn't keep his mouth shut. "It's impossible not to notice the craziness surrounding him."

"No," oh great, bitch face number seven. "He was running, Dean."

"Yea, I noticed," Dean rolled his eyes. "I was standing next to you, remember?"

"He was running for fun," Sam continued, ignoring Dean completely. "He was running because he wanted to run, isn't that great?"

And, really, in the face of Sam's happiness, Dean could only agree.

He mentally thanked the strange guy for making Sammy's day.

Sam understood how they had left their previous life behind, but subconsciously, Sam still hadn't truly accepted they were safe now.

He didn't blame his brother. Their father had gone and done it, scarring Sammy for life.

He had adored his father. His father had been his example, his role model. But he would neither forgive nor forget what that man had done to his little brother. His little Sammy.

His father may have been his hero, Sam was his family.

His father had been away too much to really be a part of the family. At best he was the uncle who visited once every few months.

"It is," Dean agreed with a small smile, before quickly changing the subject, not wanting a chick-flick moment to happen. "You excited for school?"

"I am," Sam nodded, apparently agreeing with Dean. "I still can't believe I managed to get into this school as a law-student. Usually, only the best of the best are accepted."

"Sammy, you are crazy smart," Dean rolled his eyes. "It was a given you would get in."

"You got in too," Sam said. "Don't put yourself down."

"As a second year, with children a year younger than me," Dean countered with a smirk, but he couldn't completely hide the pride in his eyes.

He had never expected to get into the school. Sam had wanted to go and after what happened, Dean wasn't going to leave his brother behind.

So he had taken the entrance exams for engineering, focussing on the mechanical and technical part.

He was accepted, on the condition, he would start as a second-year student. He would have to review the theory of the first-year on his own.

If he managed to pass a test at the end of the year - next to the general second-year tests - he would be allowed to continue with his third-year.

He didn't care about school and his education. But if school was the only way to keep an eye on Sammy, so be it.

And who knows, maybe some of the things he would learn could be used in the future. He couldn't continue hunting, not without Sammy.

And there was no way Sammy could continue.

The path they had been walking on suddenly spread out into a huge square. In the middle of the square stood a big building, made completely of white stone.

He heard Sam spout random facts about the building and the school in general. He nodded and hummed when it was needed, but he wasn't really listening. Sam had been spouting facts since they had gotten accepted. He was pretty sure he knew everything.

Instead, he watched the students as they met up with their friends. His eyes scanned the square unconsciously, searching for any kind of threats.

He paused for a second when he saw the strange guy again. He was talking to a hot redhead and an awkward looking guy.

He looked a little hurt and Dean frowned. The guy was strange, but he had made Sammy happier than he had been in days.

Unintentionally, maybe. But he had still made his little brother beam with happiness.

And, in some twisted way, the guy reminded Dean of Sam. They both had the same kind of intelligence in their eyes and both had the same feel to them.

"Dean?" Sam tried to get his attention. "What's wrong?"

Dean glanced at the guy one last time. They didn't know each other. Hell, Dean didn't even know his name. They were strangers, while the guy obvious knew the people he was talking to. And there was nothing he could do.

"Nothing," Dean shrugged, turning back to his brother. The frown didn't leave his face, though. "Just... nothing."

"Sure," Sam drawled with raised eyebrows.

"It's nothing, Sammy," Dean insisted, purposefully using Sam's nickname.

"Don't call me that," Sam scowled and let the subject go, Dean smirked to himself in victory.

"Anyway, what did you want?" Dean asked. Sam brightened, his hazel eyes glowing. Dean wanted this moment to never end.

"I know where the dorms are," he said with a grin.

''Which building is it?'' Dean looked around, there were a lot of buildings surrounding the square.

Sammy had told him a while ago that every main course had its own building. Or something like that. He tried to guess which one was the dorm.

''They're not part of the circle, we need to walk around the main building and past the gymnasium to get to them,'' Sam told him. ''Another student told me he'd already seen the building. It's supposed to be huge. Enough room for all the students of all three years.''

Dean had barely time to nod before his brother grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the gymnasium.

They rushed through the crowd of students, sometimes running into people.

A smaller boy with short blond hair was pushed into a tall guy with curly hair. Sammy shouted an apology but didn't slow down.

Dean just shot them a smirk. He hadn't missed the looks the smaller guy had thrown the taller one.

Maybe now they would get to know each other.

When they rushed past the strange guy they had met earlier, Dean made sure to give him a smile. He knew he had been cold to the guy when he had just appeared in front of them and felt a little bit guilty for that.

The guy looked to be around Sammy's age too.

He got a beaming grin in return, but he didn't miss the surprised look in the other's eye. It seemed he hadn't expected Dean to acknowledge him.

He also didn't miss how his friends immediately accosted the poor guy.

When they left the square, the amount of students decreased and they didn't bump into anyone else.

Sam halted a few feet away from the huge building in front of them. It apparently held the dorms.

It was made of the same white stone as the other buildings, but it had a lot more windows and even balconies.

This school was a lot more than they were used to. Because his father was always moving, they had to change schools a lot.

His father didn't want to pay a lot of money for Sammy's and his schooling. That's why they always went to the cheapest public schools in the region.

His father was also the reason why Dean had dropped out of school. Dean knew Sam was smart. Even though they only stayed somewhere for a few weeks, Sam always got offered to skip a grade or two.

His father always refused.

Dean had thought that if he dropped out of school, the money used for his schooling, could now be added to Sammy's.

That way Sam could go to a better school and use the brain he'd been given.

He had been sorely disappointed when his father used the extra money for his hunting.

Sam had discovered why he'd dropped out of school a few months later and he'd never forgiven his father for that.

Their already strained relationship had become even worse.

And Dean had felt so damned guilty.

He had tried to give Sammy a good future but had destroyed whatever had been left of their family, instead.

Dean knew Sam had felt guilty about Dean dropping out of school, even though nothing was Sammy's fault at all.

It was one of the reasons why Sam had been so tenacious about Dean at least trying the entrance test for the boarding school.

Dean followed his brother into the building.

Inside it looked even more opulent. The floor seemed to be made of marble, huge windows allowed the sunlight to lighten the entrance room. Two huge staircases led to the first floor. One led to the boy dorms, while the other was for the girls.

Sam was taking everything in with huge eyes.

This kind of luxury they had never experienced before.

They were used to crappy motel rooms, cheap dinners and sleeping in cars.

This, this was totally alien to them in every way.

Even Dean did a double take before he composed himself. He didn't want to gape like some uncool nerd.

Dean finally just dragged Sam up the stairs.

Their backpacks were slung over their shoulder. It was a little alarming how little they owned. Not unexpected, though. His father had only ever like spending money on hunting equipment, not mundane things every teenager needed. It was still worrying, though.

''Which room is yours?'' Sam asked as they reached the second floor. ''Mine is 2-27. Second floor, room twenty-seven.''

Dean furrowed his eyebrows in thought. They had gotten an envelope with the necessary information together with their acceptance letter, but Dean had only skimmed through it.

''Room 2-24, I think,'' Dean said after a short pause. ''Or was is 2-14? No, pretty sure it was 2-24.''

Sam gave him his usual bitchface and Dean gave a cocky grin in return.

Sam scowled and turned around, walking towards his room without looking at Dean.

Dean shook his head and walked towards his own room. Or rather, the room he was pretty sure was his.

He opened the door and walked straight into another guy. They both stumbled and Dean quickly grabbed for something to keep him upright, which just so happened to be his roommate. Great, just fucking great.

After a little stumbling around, they both managed to stay standing. Dean quickly released the other guy, who took a quick step back to put some more distance between them.

Dean stared at the person he had bumped into.

They were almost the same height, he was a little taller. He mentally smirked at that, being used to being the shortest when he was with Sam.

The other guy looked fairly normal, he supposed.

His roommate was dressed a little too uptight for his taste, but he had never been a fan of nice clothing. He rather wore a pair of jeans with a shirt and a jacket than an expensive suit. So he was a little biased.

He had crazy blue eyes, though. A kind of blue Dean had never seen before.

The other guy hadn't stopped staring yet, so Dean offered his hand first, trying to defuse the awkward situation.

''Hey, I'm Dean, your new roommate,'' he greeted the other boy. ''Or at least pretty sure I'm your new roommate.''

''Castiel,'' the other answered, one eyebrow raised and the most deadpan expression Dean had ever seen on his face. ''Nice to meet you.''

''Yea,'' Dean agreed.

The awkward air around them had yet to disappear.

Dean didn't know what to say, he was bad at meeting new people. At least new people he couldn't flirt with.

Flirting was easy and unpersonal.

But this was his roommate, so he couldn't really start flirting with the guy like he was a chick Dean had met in a bar.

''So,'' Dean started, after the silence started to slowly suffocate him. ''What kind of student are you?''

''I'm part of the language course,'' Castiel answered and Dean thought the silence would return, but Castiel offered some information out of himself. ''My major is Russian.''

''Russian?'' Dean asked, a little surprised. ''Isn't that like a crazy difficult language to learn.''

That got him a small smile. Dean wondered why he felt so proud at that.

''It is,'' Castiel agreed. ''But my family is Russian, so I already have the basics down.''

''Your name isn't Russian,'' Dean stated, pretty sure Castiel was the name of an angel in the Bible.

''It isn't,'' Castiel didn't offer anything else. ''What about you?''

''Me? I'm American,'' Dean answered with a raised eyebrow, he was pretty sure his accent had given him away. It sounded totally different from the Brittish most people talked in this school. ''From Kansas.''

''I noticed,'' Castiel blushed a little. ''I meant what kind of student are you?''

''Oh,'' this time it was Dean's turn to blush. ''An engineering student, majoring in the mechanical and technical fields.''

The silence returned, though a little less awkward than before.

Dean took the time to study the room. It was bigger than he had expected, even with everything he had seen of the boarding school.

The room was a small apartment. A small living room greeted you when you opened the room. It was a really modern one, all smooth lines and white and black and grey colours.

There were three doors, two were bedrooms, Dean guessed. The last one was probably the bathroom.

He walked past Castiel to one of the rooms. He opened the door and saw a nice bathroom.

A bath, a shower, a washbasin and a toilet. Again, everything was white, with a few shades of grey mixed in. This school was scarily focussed on the colour white.

He closed the door again and turned to the other two rooms. One door wasn't closed completely, he guessed that one belonged to Castiel. He walked towards the other one. It was a nice bedroom.

A normal bed, a closet and a desk with a chair were the only furniture in the room.

It was obvious the school expected a lot of students to bring their own stuff and didn't get a lot of furniture.

Rich kids, he sighed. They couldn't be happy with normal stuff but needed to bring their own way too expensive things.

Somebody knocked on the door, probably Sam, so Dean quickly threw his backpack on his bed and went back to the small living room.

Castiel had already opened the door and Sam stood in the doorway, together with the awkward boy he had seen talking to the strange one.

''Done sulking?'' Dean smirked.

''Jerk,'' Sam said as he rolled his eyes.

''Bitch,'' Dean returned without thinking about it.

''Mature, Dean, real mature,'' Sam said with a shake of the head. ''Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to go out for lunch with me.''

''Sure, who's coming?'' Dean asked as he passed Castiel.

''My roommate, Rory Williams,'' Sam said, motioning to the guy standing next to him. ''A few friends of mine will probably join us too,'' Rory added.

Dean nodded.

He wasn't entirely sure if he liked Rory or not. He seemed like a nice guy, but he still remembered the hurt look of the boy that was so like Sam.

''Okay,'' Dean shrugged as he walked towards the door, he stopped before he walked outside and turned to Castiel. ''Wanna come too, Castiel?''

''Me?'' the boy sounded surprised that Dean had even asked him and Dean wanted to frown at that, but he knew the boy would take it the wrong way.

''I never met anyone else named Castiel before today,'' Dean stated with a raised eyebrow. ''So?''

''Yes, I would like to come,'' Castiel nodded with another small smile. ''Thank you.''

''No problem,'' Dean shrugged, trying not to blush at the amount of gratefulness send his way. ''But hurry up, I'm starving.''


	3. On this home by horror haunted

John tugged on the sleeves of his oversized sweater, a nervous habit he had never managed to get rid of.

He took a few deep breaths to steady himself. He didn't want to have a panic attack on the first school day. That would be a social suicide if he ever heard of one.

Instead, he tried to focus on something else. It was a handy trick he had taught himself when he was younger.

His soft blue eyes scanned the square. He saw friends hug each other and laughing together. He saw people tugging at their luggage with an annoyed and disdaining look on their faces. He saw people bumping into each other and curse the other with vulgar words he unconsciously shied away from.

He saw a lot of things.

He always did. Just watching from the background was safe. You weren't noticed and you didn't get hurt. You didn't get hurt.

His eyes fell on a tall person. Said person wore expensive clothes and carried himself with such confidence, John couldn't look away.

He wanted that. He wanted to say 'fuck you' to the world and not end up worse for wear. He wanted to laugh at all the people who ridiculed him. He wanted to be confident like that.

His soft, baby blue eyes met sharp, icy blue ones. He froze and he was pretty sure he looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a car.

His brain, on the other hand, took the opportunity to study the person it envied so much. It catalogued the curly, black hair and the high cheekbones. It remembered the aristocratic cheekbones and the high forehead.

When John realised he was staring, it was far too late. All he could do was turn away and pretend he hadn't just acted like a total creep. His red cheeks may have given him away, though.

He started tugging on his sleeves again. Trying to look like he wasn't a total loser on his own in this elite school.

His backpack still hung on his back. Too small yet big enough for all that he still owned. Wasn't that a depressing thought?

He turned his head slightly to the side, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Just one glance he reminded himself. Just one more look at the almost visible confidence that person carried.

He met the icy orbs again. John forgot how to breathe. The other had been staring. At him. At John.

The other didn't look bothered about being caught. John felt a little irritated about that. He had almost had a very public mental breakdown because he got caught, yet the other didn't even have the decency to look away.

He was about to turn away and pretend this never happened, outside of those moments before sleep where he would remember every embarrassing thing he had ever done.

But, yeah.

Instead of walking away with the last shreds of dignity he still had, someone bumped into him and he was pushed into the guy with icy eyes, who had at some point moved closer.

John hated his life. He didn't wait for the other to open his mouth or push him away or hurt him. He grabbed the straps of his backpack tighter, turned on his heels and basically ran away.

He shouldn't have come.

He should've just stayed at the house. Stayed where he knew how to blend in with the background, where he knew his cursed place.

Before he could get far, a hand grabbed his shoulder and held him in place. His mind absentmindedly noted how beautiful and slender the fingers were.

He turned around to face the person whose hand it was. John braced himself subtly.

"The name is Sherlock Holmes, and the dorm room is 2-21," the other introduced himself, with a cocky smirk.

Then he was gone and John was staring at the place where his roommate had just stood.

Roommate. Great. Why not.

He hitched his backpack a little higher and continued walking towards the dorms. He was done with this square.

And if he was going to get kicked out of his dorm room, it was better to know it sooner rather than later. Maybe the school could arrange something for him if he let them know early enough.

He sighed and wondered how much worse the day could get. He would say he was at a pretty low point at the moment.

The path that led to the dorms was truly beautiful and John had to fight the urge to take some pictures. Now was not the time.

The building housing the dorms was bigger than he thought it would be. The opulence of it slapping him in the face. Laughing at him.

He just shook his head and continued walking. He found his dorm room quickly. The layout of the building easily enough.

2-21

He took a deep breath and opened the door with the card the school had sent with the brochure.

He blinked a few times at the incredible mess the living room was. The modern looking room had transformed into a cosy little thing.

On the glass table, a pile of books was balancing precariously. A laptop and  other electronics were lying discarded on the floor, together with a soft looking blanket and some cushions.

Next to the books stood science equipment, all setup and ready to go. A painting hung on the wall, slightly tilted and a smiley face was drawn on the wall opposite of the couch.

John was oddly fond of the room. The only thing he did mind was the skull on the armchair. It looked a little too real in his opinion. Considering he studied medicine and all that, it was a little worrying.

He studied the room with a sense of wonder. It looked nothing like the dorm rooms shown in the brochure and he concluded the icy guy had somehow transformed the room to suit his tastes in a matter of minutes.

John could appreciate talent when he saw it.

One of the three doors was thrown wide open and John could see the suprisingly large bathroom. It still looked the same as in the brochure.

One of the two other doors was slightly ajar, so he chose the third door.

He smiled when he saw how spacious his bedroom was. He threw his backpack in the corner of his room, somewhat mindful of his camera inside it.

He let himself fall onto the incredibly soft bed. A contend sigh escaping him. He could get used to this. He wanted to get used to this. To leave the past behind him. To forget the feeling of pain and only remember feelings of comfort.

He closed his eyes and let himself relax for the first time in ages. Blue eyes snapped open when an explosion sounded from the living room. Half asleep and confused, a panicked squeak escaped him as he fell from his bed.

He struggled to get his bearings and to get the out before the pain would get him. Before he couldn't watch any longer from the background and he would become the main character of the show.

His door opened and John remembered how he didn't lock the door. How he left himself defenceless in a strange place.

Footsteps sounded but he couldn't see anything. Why was everything so dark. He tried to blink away the darkness, to stop the familiar panic that was clawing at the back of his throat.

The footsteps disappeared and John couldn't breathe and why couldn't he see anything?

"Open your eyes," the voice was low and smooth and confidence was dripping off it.

He blinked. Why would he need to open his eyes? They were open- he frowned. Were they?

"Open your eyes, John," the voice again. It sounded a little harsher and John's eyes flew open as he tried to break the other person's hold on him. He stopped struggling when he realised, no one was holding him.

The other guy stood a small distance away and made no attempt to touch John. His roommate - Sherlock, right? - held his arms at the side where John could see them and his posture was casual.

John blinked a few times, trying hard not to stare at the icy orbs of the other. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before a sound woukd come out.

When he finally found his voice, he wished he hadn't. "What are you doing here? How did you know my name?"

"This is my dorm," the Sherlock answered in a deadpan voice and yea, John knew he deserved that one. "And I looked you up when I saw you were my dorm mate."

"In case I was a psychopath or something?" John asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Or something," Sherlock nodded.

"Between you and me, I'm more worried about you being a psychopath," John blurted.

"I'm a sociopath," Sherlock shot back, in a practised kind of way. As if people often accused him of being a psychopath. Well... Okay then. "Do your research."

"Yea, no, I'm fine," John mumbled.

"Whatever," the other shrugged. Sherlock eyed John up and down and John tried to sit still and not try to shy away.

"Medicine?'' Sherlock asked. "It makes sense. Patching yourself up does make one appreciate medicine, I suppose."

"Eh, pardon," John asked. He missed something there.

"You are studying medicine because you've come to appreciate how medicine can patch one up after a beating," Sherlock shrugged.

"Beating?" John squeaked. "What beating?"

"You've been abused," Sherlock said. "Parental figure."

"How did you know?"

"Victims of abuse are easy to recognise," was the easy answer.

"What?" John let out a slightly hysterical laugh.

"I was right," Sherlock smirked.

John narrowed his eyes. He still didn't like the cocky smirk.

"You weren't," John shot back. "I want to study medicine to help people who couldn't patch themselves up like I did."

Sherlock frowned. Looking a little troubled. Then he released a harsh sigh as he threw his hands up in frustration,"There's always something."

"You got the other part right, though," John said.

John had heard of these kinds of people who could deduce a lot about you, just by shaking their hand. He had always thought they were all frauds, but here was his roommate proving him wrong.

"You're not mad?" Sherlock asked.

"Why would I be? That was impressive."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him. Studying him.

"How do you feel about the violin?"

"No particular opinion."

"Guns?"

"As long as they're not aimed at me, I don't care."

"Experiments? Science?"

"As long as I don't have to participate, I'm fine."

"Dangerous explosions? Large fires?"

"Love them."

There was a silence then.

"You can stay," Sherlock nodded.

Why did John feel like he had just passed some kind of interview?

Sherlock didn't stay around. John had already guessed Sherlock wasn't one for small talk, but he had at least expected some harsh words about him being too loud.

Instead, Sherlock just seemed to ingore his panic attack. 

John smiled softly. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, after all. His roommate turned out to be better than he had expected. 

An unfamiliar feeling went through him, warming his whole body. Was this what happiness felt like, he wondered. 

He didn't know how long he had been lying on the floor like that. But when an explosion sounded, he was on his feet in the blink of an eye and out of his bedroom in mere seconds.

Had his roommate managed to blow up the dorm room? Or worse, himself?

He froze at the sight of the living room. The glass table was covered in some kind of green goo, just as Sherlock. Sherlock looked up from the notebook he had been writing in, probably noting what went wrong just now.

John started laughing at the ridiculous sight in front of him. Sherlock just raised an eyebrow and John couldn't breathe anymore.

He was laughing so hard no sound came out and he was clapping his hand in a hysterical way. He probably looked like a retarded seal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to show the differences in the mindset of John - arguably a normal boy - when compared to people like Sam and Dean - two boys raised around murder and nightmares and even participating in it - or the Doctor, through his inner dialogue.
> 
> I hope it worked~


End file.
